A Hunt Gone Wrong
by Ciya
Summary: Winchester luck - whatever can go wrong, will go wrong.  And when this luck is applied to a hunt the Winchester brothers don't come out unscathed.  A companion story to 'Boxing Day'.
1. Chapter 1

'_Boxing Day__'_ _will tie into this story eventually. Since Gordon and what's his name - Kreichek…Kreegan…whatever - are out of the picture now I'm going through a 'Winchesters are in deep doo-doo' otherwise known as 'imminent peril' withdrawal. _

_I'm making the medical stuff up as I go along so if it's wrong…eh c'est la vie. I guess I could ask my SIL who is a trauma room nurse down in Dallas, Texas but that would take out all the fun in making this stuff up and getting frustrated when I can't find the info I want on-line. _

**A Hunt Gone Wrong**

Ordered chaos was the norm in the Emergency Room of the Tri-County Hospital, even at 0300 in the morning. Victims of drunk driving accidents, bar room brawls and school rivalries outnumbered most of the other people in the Waiting Room at this time of the morning. Therefore, it wasn't unusual for police officers to follow EMTs as they brought in a stabbing victim. "What do we have Troy?" asked Dr. Therésa Ralston.

"A male in his early to mid-twenty's, found out on the highway with two stab wounds to his lower right back, one stab wound to his lower right abdomen and a deep laceration above his left eyebrow. He's hypothermic and we've got him on a warmed IV of Ringer's lactate," Troy answered as they rushed the unconscious man into an exam room. Transferring the patient from the gurney to the bed he added, "he also has a laceration on his right forearm."

"What's his temp?"

"Ninety-one point five," replied Troy pulling his gurney back out of the room.

"Start him on warmed O-two," said Dr. Ralston as a nurse cut off the man's soaking wet shirts. "Somebody really worked this kid over," she commented while examining the bruises and abrasions covering his chest and stomach.

Dr. Javier Frye gently pressed down on the ribs, "luckily it doesn't feel like any of his ribs are broken…wait I think I spoke to soon…" he probed the left side of the rib cage more thoroughly, "yep at least one rib is broken."

Dr. Ralston listened to his heart and lungs, paying a bit more attention to the lung sounds on the left side, "Renée what's his pulse and blood pressure?"

"Pulse is thirty-six and BP is….eighty-five over twenty-two."

"Crap it's to low. Start another warm IV and Jace type and cross match him and bring in two units of O-neg," Dr. Ralston ordered before rubbing her knuckles hard over her patient's breastbone, "Sir can you hear me? I'm Doctor Ralston. Sir?" The pain elicited a low moan. Dr. Ralston rubbed harder while Dr. Frye pulled the blood soaked bandages off the abdominal wound. When he probed the wound their patient suddenly bucked up, striking and kicking out.

"Sir, please hold still!" exclaimed Dr. Frye, as he held down the arm that had hit him hard in the chin.

"Sir your safe," yelled Dr. Ralston. While the nurses held down his legs and other arm, she grabbed ahold of the man's rolling head and looked into his barely open eyes, "you're safe. Doctor Frye needs to check your wounds." The man stopped kicking and grabbed hold of the bed's rails. Groaning in pain he clenched his eyes shut and tipped his head back, breathing heavily into the oxygen mask affixed to his face. "Sir what's your name?"

"Sssam," he groaned out through clenched teeth.

"Sam what?"

"Mmmh..."

"Okay Sam." Brushing Sam's wet bangs out of the way, Dr. Ralston pulled his eyelids apart and shined her penlight into his eyes, "pupils are equal but sluggish," she called out and continued to question her patient, "how old are you?"

"Twe…twenty-four," Sam gasped out, breathing heavily.

He pulled away when Dr. Ralston gently pressed down around the laceration above his eyebrow. "Do you remember how you hurt your head Sam?" He hissed when she pushed down to hard on the large, darkening bruise covering his right cheekbone.

"Nnnno," Sam's teeth clattered together as violent shivers wracked his body. He started to pull up his legs so he could curl into a ball but stopped when one of the nurses pushed down on his injured knees. "Shiiit."

Dr. Ralston sliced open his jeans, "try to relax Sam," she said examining the bruised and swollen knees. Sam tried to glare at the doctor but gave up when he couldn't keep his head up and muttered incoherently instead. He groaned and scrunched his eyes shut when Dr. Frye pressed down on his stomach near the stab wound.

"A bit tender there Sam?"

"Yeah."

"Shay, we're going to need x-rays of his chest and abdomen," he said glancing at the x-ray tech.

"And his left knee," added Dr. Ralston. "Are you allergic to any medications? Taking any drugs?"

The nurses pried his fingers from the bed rails and rolled him onto his left side, "nno drugs…al…allergic to ampicillin. AAAHHHH!" Sam screamed, arched his back and started hyperventilating when Dr. Frye probed the wounds on his back.

"Sam, Sam calm down," Dr. Ralston squeezed Sam's shoulder, "take slow, deep breaths…" Sam's eyes rolled back into his head as he passed out. "Crap! Renée call up Surgery see if they're ready for him." She listened as his breathing slowly returned to normal. "Justine what's his pulse ox?"

"Ninety-six percent"

"Okay, put him on a CO-two re-breather and check his level in five minutes."

"The wounds are deep but it doesn't look like anything vital was hit but it's difficult to see with all this blood. The surgeons could find something I missed," he replied pressing gauze down on the slowly bleeding wounds. "Therésa didn't Troy say he had a cut on his forearm?"

"Yeah he did." They rolled Sam back onto his back, covered him with warmed blankets and turned his arm over to get a better look. "Justine I need a couple of alcohol wipes please," Dr. Ralston said glancing over at the nurse at the head of the bed. Wiping the mud away, she could see the red, puffy edges of the cut crisscrossed with new scrapes. "Doesn't look to bad, you can see where it's started healing, it just needs a thorough cleaning and some antibiotics."

"Ouch dude."

"Javier, what?"

He pointed at Sam's finger, "his fingernail's been torn off."

"Dee…"

Dr. Frye asked, "what Sam?"

"Dee…nnnh."

"Dean? Did you say 'Dean' Sam?" The two doctors glanced at each other than back at Sam.

"Dean."

"Did Dean stab you Sam?" Dr. Ralston prompted as Sam cracked his eyes open again.

"Guh…" he groaned.

"Excuse me Docs but I need to talk to your patient," interrupted one of the police officers that had accompanied Sam and the EMTs into the hospital. He stood over the bed and looked down at Sam. "Sir, I'm Deputy Pendergrass from the Charles Mix County Sheriff's Office. Can you tell me what happened to you?" Sam slowly looked around the room before closing his eyes again. "Sir!"

"Deputy Pendergrass please don't yell at him," admonished Dr. Frye.

"Doc you know I need to get his statement."

"We know Deputy," replied Dr. Ralston, "he said his name was Sam and he mentioned the name 'Dean'."

"Did he say if Dean was the one who stabbed him?"

"We asked but he wouldn't answer."

Deputy Pendergrass continued to write in his notebook. "Do you think he'll make it?"

Dr. Ralston glanced at the heart monitor showing the slow but steady beat of Sam's heart. "Hopefully. If they can get his blood pressure up and the bleeding stopped."

Shay interrupted, "Doctor Ralston they're ready for him upstairs."

"Okay," replied Dr. Ralston getting the tubes and wires attached to Sam situated for the short ride up to the fourth floor, "let's get him up there."


	2. Chapter 2

_Dean's turn to be injury boy. -grin- How can two guys look so good covered in blood, sweat and supernatural goo?_

**A Hunt Gone Wrong - Chapter 2**

"Did anyone get the license of the truck that hit me?" Dean murmured as he rolled over onto his side and attempted to sit up. "Ow," he fell back onto the floor holding his throbbing head, "make that hit me, backed up and ran over me again," he groaned. He felt something warm and sticky on his head, blinking rapidly as lightning lit the room he was finally able to bring his hands into focus and stared at the blood smeared on them. Confused, he gazed at a large crack in the ceiling and tried to catch the niggling little thought that was hiding in the back recesses of his brain '_something was missing' _he thought as his eyes involuntarily closed.

Lightning flashed seconds before thunder shook the old house rousing Dean from unconsciousness. Dean cracked his eyes open, '_what the hell?' _he thought seconds before the vomit he had expelled up into the air came splatting back down onto his face. Spitting and hacking Dean rolled onto his side, "oh gross," he said while wiping his face off with his jacket sleeve, "this sucks." He slowly took stock of his injuries, first moving his arms - not to bad, next moving his legs, "freaking hell," his right knee protested painfully. Dean sunk into a semi-conscious state, his mind wandering; he giggled as Homer Simpson chased Madge Carrigan around her kitchen, wielding a curved sacrificial knife and demanding fudge.

He started as a loud bang sounded, "what the…?" Dean shook his head as he realized he'd passed out again. "Sammy's going to…wait…Sam…where the hell is Sam?" He sat up quickly ignoring the wave of dizziness and the sharp pain in his head. Dean clawed his way to a standing position but had to lean back against the wall when his knee threatened to give out. "SAM!" he yelled, cringing when the loudness of his voice caused the throbbing in his head to worsen. "Sammy answer me!" He took a deep breath and limped painfully out of the library.

**-Four hours earlier-**

"SAM! SAM!"

"WHAT?"

"It's getting dangerous in here!" Dean ducked another brick thrown at his head by the ghost of Dr. Anton Freiberg. "WHOA! Son-of-a-bitch!"

Sam ran into the moonlit, moldering second floor library of the Old Freiberg Mansion and skidded to a stop when he saw his brother on the floor, holding his arm, and about to be brained by the angry spirit of Dr. Freiberg. He brought up his shotgun, "HEY!" he yelled, pulling the trigger and blasting the spirit away.

"Sam where in the hell were you?"

Sam spent a few seconds trying to slow down his breathing; he couldn't hold back a wince as he helped his brother up from the floor.

"Sam?" Dean saw the wince and was instantly concerned.

"The Doc threw me down the hall and I landed in some debris."

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah I'm fine," Sam replied rubbing his side. "What about you Dean? How's your arm?"

Dean glanced around the room keeping an eye out for the good Doctor's return. "I'm good." He rotated his shoulder around, trying to get the kink out it where he had been hit by one of the bricks and wondered why lately all their cases seemed to blow up in their faces.

"Did you find anything in here Dean," Sam asked as he poked around the room before leaning up against the side of the large brick fireplace.

"No," Dean turned around in a circle his eyes searching the walls for anything he possibly missed before Dr. Freiberg started hurling bricks at him. "Are you sure his bones are in this room?"

"No I'm not sure." While his brother glared at him Sam pulled a paper from his back pocket and reread what his research had uncovered, "Eli Kirke's diaries weren't very specific. '_I have heard whispers of secret passageways and hidden rooms where Doctor Freiberg slowly tortured and dismembered his young victims. Furthermore, it is rumored that after the lynching party left, Mrs. Freiberg cut down her husband's body and hid it in his favorite room'._"

"Secret passageways and hidden rooms? That's weak Sam."

"It's all we have to go on Dean…what the hell?" Sam jumped slightly when one of the bricks he pushed against to stand up moved backwards slightly.

"Sam?" Dean asked walking over to see what his brother was examining.

Poking the brick some more Sam was finally able to push it completely back into the chimney. "This brick moves." He looked over at Dean, "could it be?" They both pushed on the brick wall, slowly and with a loud groan, it moved backwards leaving enough room for one person to squeeze through.

"A secret passage!" the brothers said at the same time.

Dean grinned, "this is so Scooby-Doo, Sam."

Sam pulled his mini-Maglite out of his pocket flashing it into the dark, musty smelling space. "Yeah, but I doubt you'll be meeting Daphne in here."

They slid through the tight opening into the hidden room. Flashing his light around the small room Dean noted a fireplace, a metal bed frame supporting a tattered mattress, a short length of cabinets on the outside wall, a stained table, a few jars filled with a murky substance on the counter under the cabinets and a closed door set in the far left wall. Sam knelt down in the fireplace opening and flashed his light up chimney. "See anything?"

"Yeah, stars. You?" Sam asked getting back to his feet and walking over to the bed.

Dean tried the knob on the door to the left, "locked but not for long," he replied pulling out his lock picking set. He ducked and covered as chunks of brick rained down on him. "Damnit!"

"He's back Dean," Sam shouted, firing his shotgun.

"No shit Sherlock!"

Reloading swiftly Sam glanced around the room; he walked over to the counter and grabbed one of the smaller jars then went back to the secret entrance.

Dean turned around dusting himself off, "hey where to you think you're going with that?"

"To keep the Doc occupied while you get that door open."

"Sam if you haven't noticed bad things happen when we split up."

"I'm not wearing a red shirt today Dean," grinned Sam before slipping through the small entrance.

"'_I'm not wearing a red shirt today Dean'_," he muttered sarcastically. "Kid's going to end up with the business end of a shotgun stuffed up his ass if he isn't careful." Dean squatted back down in front of the door and started picking the lock.

-_snsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsn-_

Walking up and down the second floor hallway Sam yelled, "yo Doc! I have one of your…your…" he looked at the floating contents with disgust as he shook the jar causing the liquid inside to slosh around, "your experiments! If you want it back you're going to have to take it back!"

"MINE!" shrieked an unworldly voice.

A swift, cold wind buffeted Sam forcing him to take a step back. His flashlight flickering, Sam brought his shotgun up and glanced around while slowly backing up. Sam spun around when he heard a strained, fearful voice behind him. "Run…hide. Please you must," begged a ghostly figure of a teenaged boy. "He'll hurt you if you don't run and hide." Holding up a handless, bloody stump and pointing behind and to the left of Sam, the boy cried, "the Doctor's coming!" before disappearing.

Sam spun around again, his eyes widened when he saw the large form of a man sporting gray mutton chops and dressed in late 1800's style clothing standing in front of him. He stepped back towards the staircase as the spirit moved towards him. "MINE!" it shrieked again. Grimacing in pain from the sound assaulting his ears Sam's back hit the newel post at the top of the staircase. He fired his shotgun at the doctor's spirit before whirling around and running down the stairs. Halfway down a ghostly voice whispered, "you can't escape me boy," followed by a hard shove to his back, the jar and shotgun flew out of his hands as he tumbled down the stairs. Sam continued rolling as he hit the bottom of the staircase and crashed into a wall.

Gasping from the pain of bruised ribs, Sam attempted to lift his head but the world tilted and grayed out. He groaned and rolled over into a seated position, shaking his head to clear it he fell over. "Bad idea," he groaned. Pushing himself back up again he swallowed several times as the scent of old formaldehyde and flesh made his stomach even more nauseous. The flashlight had rolled to a stop near Sam's foot, the beam illuminating the water damaged floor and wainscoting. He shoved the flashlight into a jacket pocket while he heaved himself up until his feet were underneath him. His left knee protested having weight put on it as he slid against the wall to the front door, he pulled the flashlight back out and gingerly limped outside. Taking several deep breaths of cold air he battled with his rolling stomach. Watching blood drip off his nose he lost the battle and emptied his stomach over the rotting porch railing. Sam leaned against a porch column and spat several times trying to get rid of the taste in his mouth. He grimaced when touched the bloody gash above his eyebrow. "Next time it's Dean's turn to play 'catch me if you can' with a pissed off spirit."

Pushing himself away from the porch column and holding his left arm protectively around his ribs, he turned around to limp back into the wrecked mansion. Sam stopped in the doorway, his jaw dropping as he took in the sight of a fully furnished turn of the century foyer. "What the hell?" Replacing the damage wreaked by time and vandalism were etched glass sconces sparkling with candlelight, shining parquet floors and ornate draperies gently moving in the breeze from the open door. Sam took a small step inside, his eyes darting around with wonderment at the elegant furniture and fine works of art. He took a startled step back and reflexively reached for his .45 when Dr. Freiberg suddenly materialized in front of him.

"You took what's mine," Freiberg growled menacingly, "now I'll take what's yours."

Sam's eyes immediately shot up to the second floor as he mouthed 'Dean'. He inhaled sharply when an intense pain shot through his lower abdomen. A strangled sound came out of his mouth as Freiberg twisted the knife before removing it from Sam's body. Freiberg held the knife up, watching the blood drip off the blade. "Beautiful isn't it? Just beautiful." He grabbed Sam's arm and held the knife inches from Sam's face, "red like roses," he said in an awed voice.

Sam pressed his right arm against the wound grimacing as the pressure caused the pain to flare from red to white hot. His eyes strayed to the knife being held in his face, it was his brother's favorite switchblade, he'd given it to Dean on his twenty-first birthday. He remembered how hard it had been to find an iron bladed switchblade, have it etched with protective sigils and then to keep the purchase a secret while sharing a room with an eagle-eyed, over protective brother. His musings were interrupted when the doctor growled, "more…I need more blood." The doctor's eyes glowed fanatically at the growing bloodstain on Sam's shirt.

/"0"\ "\0/"

**A/N:**_ I started this story 2 or so years ago and I finally realized the only way I'm going to get it finished is to start publishing what I have. Unfortunately last year my laptop crashed and I lost half of chapter 5 and all of chapter 6 -sucks to be me- and I haven't rewritten them yet so maybe this way I'll get my butt moving._


	3. Chapter 3

**A Hunt Gone Wrong - Chapter 3**

Dean leaned against the wall for support as he made his way down the stairs to the main floor. Smelling something noxious, his stomach rolled and flipped in an uncomfortable manner. He almost fell down the stairs when his stomach finally cramped up so badly he ended up having to reach out, grab onto the banister and heave over it. When he was finished, he sat on the stairs and breathed deeply through his open mouth. "Sam," he called out again. "Shit," Dean groaned out, pulling himself up with the banister and slowly made his way to the bottom of the stairs. Flashing his light around, twinkling spots of broken glass indicated the location of a broken jar, "well that explains the smell," he said trying not to look at the disintegrating, cloudy eyeballs lying strewn across the floor. He moved his light around and spotted Sam's discarded shotgun, he limped quickly over to the gun and gingerly picked it up, mindful of his bruised ribs. "Sammy?" Dean flashed the light around before walking down a short gloomy hallway and entering the remains of a large kitchen.

Finally giving up on finding his kid brother anywhere on the main floor he headed for the partially open front door. Pushing the door open further, he noticed a small dark red puddle. Grimacing as he knelt down, he put a slightly shaky finger into the cold, congealed mess. The scent of copper wafted up to his nose and he knew this was Sam's blood. "Shit…Sam!" Dean yelled striding out on to the porch. He flashed the light around hoping, yet not, to find his injured brother curled up on the floor, instead he found Sam's jacket and a long smear of blood. When he picked up the jacket something heavy fell and rolled to a stop against his foot - Sam's flashlight, then he noticed the partially torn off left sleeve and the stiff, dark stain running from the cuff to the elbow on the right sleeve. Dean's blood ran cold. Clutching the jacket and shotgun he jumped off the porch, the pain in his knee forgotten, and ran through the tangle of brush and russian olive trees to the Impala. "Be at the car Sammy…be at the car…please be at the car…" he muttered repeatedly, his breath hitching as his ribs protested the jarring run. "Sam!" Dean slid in the mud and crashed hard into the Impala, breathing fast he flashed the light around the interior searching for any sign of his brother.

"Damnit Sammy, where are you?" Opening the trunk and dumping their stuff inside, he heard a small thunk when his jacket swung forward and hit the car. "_Shit I must be out of it_," he thought snagging the cell phone out of his pocket. The 'new message' icon blinked, pressing the appropriate buttons he soon heard Sam's voice faintly through the static, '_Dean…hurry…doc…don't know…highway…_' Dean jerked the phone away as an ear shattering shriek came through the earpiece, through the noise he heard an eerie voice scream, '_You're mine!'_ followed by a clatter then nothing. Worried, he dialed his brother's number and after being sent directly to voice mail for the third time, Dean was on the verge of going ballistic when his phone rang. Startled, he almost dropped it, "WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU SAM?"

"Please stay on the line for an important message from the Mauritanian Sweepstakes Bureau," said a mechanical voice.

"What the fu…?" Dean hit the End button and drew his arm back to throw the phone against the nearest tree when it rang again. "If this is a freakin' telemarketer again…Sammy this had better be you," he practically screamed into the phone.

"Is this Dean?" an authoritative sounding voice inquired.

Dean stared at his phone for a second before demanding, "who in the hell is this?"

"This is Deputy Pomrencke of the Charles Mix County Sheriff's Office, Mandan, North Dakota. To whom am I speaking?"

A cold shiver went down Dean's spine. "Sheriff's office?"

"Sir do you know the person who has the cell phone number seven-eight-five..five-five-five..two-eight-zero-four?"

Dean had a hard time swallowing over the large lump in his throat. Sam was missing and judging by the amount of blood inside the mansion and on the porch he was hurt bad and now the cops have his phone. Things couldn't get worse. "My name's Dean. That's Sam's…my brother's number…is..is he alright?"

"Dean, your brother's been in an accident and has been taken to the Tri-County Hospital in Mandan."

"Tri-County Hospital…Mandan. Uh, thanks officer." He turned back, slammed the trunk closed, hurried to the driver's door and opened it.

"Deputy. Sir I need to ask you some questions."

Getting in and slamming the door shut Dean replied, "I need to get to the hospital. Can it wait?" He shoved the key into the ignition and cranked the engine over.

"Sir…Dean, do you know anyone who would want to hurt your brother? Anyone holding a grudge?" Dean let out a burst of hysterical laughter. "Dean is there something I should know?" asked Pomrencke in a concerned tone.

Dean shifted into reverse, turned around and backed the Impala out of its hiding place amongst the trees then turned back, shifted into drive and gunned the engine, spinning the back wheels and shooting small rocks, clumps of mud and grass behind him. "No, no it's…Sammy is the least likely guy to make enemies. He's your typical straight A, library loving, non-partying, college nerd." Going over a bump in the gravel road to fast, he gasped in pain when his knee bounced against the underside of the dashboard.

Hearing the pained gasp Pomrencke said, "is something wrong Dean?"

"No, I'm fine." Dean could feel Pomrencke's disbelief through the phone.

"Sam's a college student? Does he attend one of the colleges in Bismarck?"

"Yeah…no…DSU in…" Dean turned the cell off and tossed it into the back seat; he didn't have time to play twenty questions with the cops. It was at least an hour's drive to Mandan and he needed the time to think of a cover story that would satisfy the hospital and get Sam released into his custody before his real identity was uncovered and the FBI notified.

He made it to Mandan within forty-five minutes.

* * *

><p><em>Yeah I know Charles Mix County is in South not North Dakota but at least I didn't move Mandan. <em>\0/


	4. Chapter 4

_My daughter told me that I'm to evil for my own good. I'm taking it as a complement. -grin- _

**A Hunt Gone Wrong - Chapter 4**

"I need more!" roared Freiberg, his body shaking so fast he became a blur then suddenly stopping and in utter stillness stared at Sam. Waves of fear and the screams of terrified teenagers permeated the foyer; the air…thick and heavy… swirled around Sam like a tidal wave, overwhelming him. He struggled to draw air into his lungs and fought the urge to collapse to his knees, to give in to the fear. Sam ripped his arm out of Freiberg's grasp and stumbled backwards onto the porch. He turned and managed to take a few steps before hands grabbed his jacket collar and arm, roughly jerking him back.

-"_Sam wake up. Sam._"_-_

Yelling "LET ME GO!" Sam struggled and squirmed out of the jacket loosing his flashlight in the process. Tripping over his own feet in his haste to escape, he landed face down on the porch, knocking the air out of his lungs. A burning pain tore through his side as he coughed and scrambled to get back to his feet. Clutching his bloody side he sprinted across the porch to the steps and jumped, almost falling down again when he landed awkwardly in the slick mud. Flailing his arms, the tall brunette managed to stay on his feet and ran headlong through the high weeds and brush surrounding the mansion, intermittent moonlight lighting his way. '_Keep the doctor busy…keep him away from Dean…keep the doctor busy…keep him away from Dean…_' he repeated in his head.

-"_You need to open your eyes Sam._"-

Sam put his arm up to protect his face from the stinging slaps of small tree branches. Something to the right screamed, veering to the left he tripped over a rotting fallen tree and rolled several feet before coming to a stop. Rain pelted him as he lay curled up in a ball, he screamed through clenched teeth as sharp pains ran through his chest and side. Freezing cold air blew across the back of his neck separating strands of wet chestnut hair.

"You can't hide from me boy," a guttural voice whispered in his ear.

Recoiling, Sam got moving again. Both knees twinged as he climbed to his feet, staggering slightly he wrapped his arms around his stomach and ribs, and stared into the darkness searching for the doctor's spirit. "You can't catch me you murdering bastard!" Sam shouted when a swirling mist rushed out from amongst the leafless trees. With fingers numb from cold, the youngest Winchester reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a small Ziploc baggie containing white crystals. He opened the baggie and poured a small amount of the salt into his fist, zipped the bag shut then shoved it back into his pocket. Knowing the salt wouldn't last long in the rain he waited until the last possible moment to throw it into the mist. Rewarded with a scream of pain mixed with rage, Sam took off in a stilted run, away from the dissipating mist and in what he hoped was the direction of the Impala.

-"_Sam stop fighting, you're going to tear open your stitches. Keogh call Doctor Jameson stat!"_-

The tree line tilted sideways in the early dawn light when Sam slammed into a tree trunk. Crying out, he squeezed his eyes shut as stars shot across his vision and dropped to his knees. Exhausted, he leaned his head and shoulder against the trunk and tried to bring his breathing under control. There wasn't enough light out for him to see the knife wound but he could tell by the warmth spreading across his stomach and down his thigh that if he didn't stop the bleeding soon, Freiberg would be the least of his worries. Getting back to his feet, he slowly jogged until he came to a shallow ditch bordering the highway. "Shit." He hung his head and leaned over with his hands on his knees when he realized he'd completely missed the Impala, ending up instead on the highway that ran two miles south of the mansion. Pulling his cell phone from the front pocket of his sodden, dirty jeans he punched in Dean's number, "_Please_ _work, please_…Dean hurry up, the doc got me good and I don't know how much longer…I'm on the highway south…" Simultaneously, the phone was ripped from his fingers and a disembodied voice screamed, "YOUR'RE MINE!" in his ear.

Sam's eyes flew open wide in surprise then in shock as cold metal slid into his lower back. A guttural sound fell from his lips, he arched his back and involuntarily stepped backward when the knife was yanked out. Images of Jake and Cold Oak flashed through his mind as the knife blade was sunk to the hilt in his back again.

Hot blood flowed soaking into the waistband of his jeans while ice cold fingers grasped the back of his shirts, holding him still while Freiberg muttered, "it's been so long…so long since I've felt the warmth of life giving blood flowing through my veins." Sam couldn't breathe, his lungs immobilized by the blinding pain and black spots soon formed in his vision. Listening to the desperate gasps for air, Freiberg smiled and jiggled the handle of the knife before pulling it out slowly and letting go of the shirts.

-"_Where are the restraints? Sam you have to stop fighting us. Here, get him tied down before…damnit he tore his stitches. JC give him one hundred milligrams of pentobarbital._"-

His legs unable to hold him Sam collapsed, falling onto his side then rolling onto his back, his arms and legs askew. Finally able to breath again he gulped down air, the knife wounds throbbing with every beat of his heart. Freiberg knelt down next to Sam and looked him over from head to toe. "You're a fine specimen my boy. I will take much pleasure in your disembowelment." He reached out and held the young man's face in his hands, gently wiping away tears with his thumbs, "there, there my boy, no need to cry. All of us were put here on God's green earth for a purpose," he stroked Sam's hair. "I am so close to a break through," he smiled benignly, "you should know that your sacrifice will help further my research into how to replace diseased internal organs and circulatory systems."

"No, no," Sam pleaded shaking his head as he reached up and grasped the doctor's icy wrists, pulling at them weakly, "please no." He wanted to kick, to scream, to run away but he was so cold and tired he could only manage to shift his left leg. His mind wandering, he closed his eyes, willing himself to pass out before the doctor could follow through with his threat.

-"_Dawn call the OR, tell them he's coming back up._"-

A malevolent grimace twisted the doctor's face into a horrifying sight; he tore his hands away, clasped them together and raised his arms over Sam's chest, Dean's knife appearing out of nowhere. "It's time…_Sam_," he said, plunging the knife down.


End file.
